


The Refugees

by Runewif (Wynja2007)



Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Blackpool B&Bs, Elves Will Be Elves..., Gen, Hats, Modern AU, Silvans, Tourist Pirate Ships, cocoa
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-02
Updated: 2018-03-02
Packaged: 2019-03-26 04:37:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13850256
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wynja2007/pseuds/Runewif
Summary: When Lily Wilkins agrees to a long-term low-season booking, she wonders if it might be too good to be true...





	The Refugees

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the rejuvenated Teitho Contest in which I'm delighted to say it did rather better than I expected...

Magical creatures, elves. Everyone has a mental image, I suppose; everyone thinks they know what an elf is.

But the truth is – and I am better placed to say than most – elves are weirdly beautiful, exhausting, and utterly charming…

Not that you’ll believe me. I didn’t believe it myself, at first, and it was me it was happening to. But, well, he had a way about him, the... the client, their patron…

*  
I’d just put the B&B up for sale when I first met King, Dr King as he styled himself. I thought he was a potential buyer at first, but he was too well dressed, sharp grey suit and silk tie, expensive overcoat and hair so long that he had to be wealthy just to get away with it. 

‘I am here about the house, yes,’ he said in an elegant, refined drawl. ‘But not to purchase. Instead, I have a business proposition…’

I was instantly on my guard. We’ve all heard stories of B&Bs being repurposed by people traffickers…

‘This is a respectable B&B, you know; I won’t do anything that isn’t legal or moral.’

‘Indeed, why should you?’ King said. ‘I simply wish to book your house for the next three months.’

I probably gawped; I was certainly dumbstruck. A three-month low-season let was just the ticket…

Taking my silence for doubt, King went on hurriedly.

‘I will, of course, pay in advance… and extra for the inconvenience, and for your particular care of the guests I send you…?’

*

I know they say if it looks too good to be true, it probably is… but they also say, a bird in the hand… anyway, I signed the contract and took the cheque and then – only then – did I find out exactly what I’d let myself in for.

‘While your guests are here, you must ensure they do not go out without their hats…’

‘Really?’

‘…and keep the knives locked up, some are rather fond of silverware. Also, do not let any of them go out unaccompanied… this must sound odd, but there is a simple explanation…’

‘I’d be interested to hear it, Dr King…?’

‘They are elves.’

‘Elves? As in…elves?’

‘Indeed. Wood Elves, to be exact, the remainder of a once-great civilisation. Do not confuse them with the Little Folk extant in myth and legend; there is nothing little about these individuals. Think of them as refugees who require a safe place to stay while I arrange transport. Your boarding house, situated away from the busiest part of the town, is ideal and common report says Lily Wilkins is an excellent landlady.’ He paused. ‘I know this is difficult to believe, but I hope I have paid a large enough fee for you to accept my words on face-value, yes…? Take care of them for me, Mrs Wilkins. They are not family, but I am the nearest they have to it.’

*

Next day a minibus pulled up and a dozen Wood Elves tumbled out, laughing and giggling and clutching at their hats. Their hair was all the colours of an autumn wood, reds and golds and rich browns, their eyes were brown or green and they picked up their bags, laughing as I welcomed them, and one, this one girl-elf, paused to bow to me.

‘Thank you for this home,’ she said. ‘We will try not to fight too much!’

They trooped in and took off their hats. Without them they were oddly beautiful creatures, they had these delicately-shaped ears, a bit like Mr Spock in Star Trek, only neater. And completely out of place in my nice, tidy lounge area.

After dinner, they came up to me and one of them bowed.

‘We wish to go outside,’ he said. 

‘Make sure you wear your hats and keep together,’ I said promptly.

‘Not that far outside. Is there… an outside in the house? A… a garden?’

‘There’s a back yard,’ I said. ‘Come through. And hats, please. Her next door’s a terror for overlooking my doings.’

‘Yes, Nana Wilkins.’

‘What did you call me???’

The elf looked at me and blinked.

‘It is a term of polite affection, Nana Wilkins. That is all.’

*

They stayed outside for hours, talking at first in this odd sort of language that sounded a bit like slow Welsh and with occasional glances to see if I was listening. I was, of course. I just couldn’t understand a word. As soon as the clouds cleared and you could start to see the stars, they began singing.

Never heard anything like it, melodic and rich, potent and earthy, and though I didn’t understand the words, images formed in my mind, somehow. It’s not so much that elves do magic, it’s more that they are magic. It’s part of them, their being, their essence, perhaps. The yard was wet from the rain earlier, but when they came in, they walked across my kitchen floor with neither a footprint nor a smudge. That’s the sort of magic I like. 

*

I soon discovered that the elf-girl hadn’t been joking about fighting. By and large they were lovely, but occasionally there’d be a falling out, laughter would turn to snarls, fists would clench and unclench, and they’d leap on each other in a fury of shouting, flailing arms and tangling hair. One fight on the landing ended with three combatants breaking the bannister and falling through onto the hall floor in a heap, still shouting and struggling, but after they’d calmed down and I’d given them a bit of a talking-to, they promised only to fight in the yard in future. 

It can’t have helped that they were all so cooped up, so the next fine day, I took them all for a tram-ride to the centre of town to look at the sights. The tide was out, but they were fascinated, looking out over the Irish Sea, and exclaiming excitedly when one of the tourist pirate ships went past. Harmless, really. Like children, as if they’d never lost their joy in life. 

Made me sad, a bit, that we’re not more like that.

True, they did raid my cutlery drawer for the good silver… Full moon, it was, and they went out to play in the street, throwing the knives to each other and dancing over and around them, their singing a raw, earthy chant, evocative and primitive, and afterwards they trooped indoors and asked me for ‘Cocoa, please, Nana Wilkins,’ as if it was all quite normal…

*

One night, out of the blue, Dr King turned up with another elf who bore quite a resemblance to him and who wore his champagne blond hair with plaits in, if you please. Should have looked odd, but it was me who felt out of place, really, amongst all these beautiful and wild young things…

Everyone crammed into the lounge to listen to Dr King and his son talk in that strange, almost-Welsh. His news didn’t seem to go down well, but one of the elves said something in a questioning way King took it up, and a series of rapid exchanges left me bewildered until the elves dispersed at a few words from King, leaving me alone with him.

‘Mrs Wilkins – Lily,’ he said. ‘Thank you for protecting them. I am the bearer of bad news tonight; we are faced with near-disaster. The ship I wanted is not available, yet we must sail soon.’

‘Oh, that’s a pity,’ I said. ‘But they’re welcome for as long as you like– I can reduce the rates, if…’

‘That may not be necessary. I would like Legolas to stay here after I leave tonight; my young friends have a plan which he will help with… but…’ He broke off as one of the elves, the one who had first called me Nana, came back into the room and tugged at his sleeve. ‘Yes, what is it?’

A stream of urgent not-Welsh, accompanied by gestures towards me, and Dr King sighed.

‘Very well, I will ask. Apparently, Nana Wilkins is lovely, and doesn’t even mind the fighting, so can she come along…? I said I would ask.’

I burst out laughing.

‘That’s ridiculous! I couldn’t possibly… Could I…?’

Legolas, Dr King’s son, laughed and smiled.

‘I don’t know,’ he said. ‘But… couldn’t you?’

*

It’ll be all over the papers by now that a group of long-haired youngsters stole a tourist pirate ship from the pier and sailed away, taking Lily Wilkins and a man with long blond hair along as hostages… except I’m not a hostage. They’ve offered me a new life somewhere far away in the warm, and I’ve nothing to keep me here, so I would like to take this opportunity to offer my resignation from the Blackpool Landladies’ Charter. 

Please find enclosed the deeds to the B&B and accept my apologies for the broken banisters. But elves will be elves, won’t they?

Yours Faithfully,

Lily (Nana) Wilkins

PS I’ve no idea how this will reach you, Mavis; by owl, possibly. It wouldn’t surprise me.

Lil.


End file.
